The Weirdstone of Brisingamen by Alan Garner Page B

… he … can stop it. I think that may be … Stormy Point ahead.”
    Their legs were stiff, and every bone ached, but they hurried along as best they could, and a few minutes later they cried out with relief, for the path did indeed come out on Stormy Point.
    Across the waste of stones they ran, and down to the iron gates; and when they came to the rock they flung themselves against it, beating with their fists, and calling the wizard’s name. But bruised knuckles were all they achieved: no gates appeared, no cavern opened.
    Colin was in a frenzy of desperation. He prised a stone out of the ground, almost as big as his head, and, using both hands, began to pound the silent wall, shouting, “Open up! Open up! Open up! Open up! Open up!!!”
    â€œNow that is no way to come a-visiting wizards,” said a voice above them.

C HAPTER 7
F ENODYREE
    C olin and Susan looked up, not knowing what to expect: the voice sounded friendly, but was that any guide now?
    Over the top of the rock dangled a pair of feet, and between these were two eyes, black as sloes, set in a leathery face, bearded and bushy-browed.
    â€œRocks are old, stubborn souls; they were here before we came, and they will be here when we are gone. They have all the time there is, and will not be hurried.”
    With this, the face disappeared, the legs swung out of sight, there was a slithering noise, a bump, and from behind the rock stepped a man four feet high. He wore a belted tunic of grey, patterned with green spirals along the hem, pointed boots, and breeches bound tight with leather thongs. His black hair reached to his shoulders, and on his brow was a circlet of gold.
    â€œAre – are you a dwarf?” said Susan.
    â€œThat am I.” He bowed low. “By name, Fenodyree; Wineskin, or Squabnose, to disrespectful friends. Take your pick.”
    He straightened up and looked keenly from one to theother of the children. His face had the same qualities of wisdom, of age without weakness, that they had seen in Cadellin, but here there was more of merriment, and a lighter heart.
    â€œOh please,” said Susan, “take us to the wizard, if you can. Something dreadful has happened, and he must be told at once, in case it’s not too late.”
    â€œIn case what is not too late?” said Fenodyree. “Oh, but there I go, wanting gossip, when all around is turmoil and urgent deeds! Let us find Cadellin.”
    He ran his hand down the rough stone, like a man stroking the flanks of a favourite horse. The rock stirred ponderously and clove in two, and there were the iron gates, and the blue light of Fundindelve.
    â€œNow the gates,” said Fenodyree briskly. “My father made them, and so they hear me, though I have not the power of wizards.”
    He laid his hand upon the metal, and the gates opened.
    â€œStay close, lest you lose the way,” called Fenodyree over his shoulder.
    He set off at a jog-trot down the swift-sloping tunnel. Colin and Susan hurried after him, the rock and iron closed behind them, and they were again far from the world of men.
    Down they went into the edge, and came at last, by many zigzag paths, to the cave where they had rested after theirmeeting with Cadellin. And there they found him; he had been reading at the table, but had risen at the sound of their approach.
    â€œThe day’s greeting to you, Cadellin Silverbrow,” said Fenodyree.
    â€œAnd to you, Wineskin. Now what bad news do you bring me, children? I have been expecting it, though I know not what it may be.”
    â€œCadellin,” cried Susan, “my Tear must be Firefrost, and it’s just been stolen!”
    â€œWhat – tear is this?”
    â€œ My Tear! The one my mother gave me. She had it from Bess Mossock.”
    And out poured the whole story in a tumble of words.
    The wizard grew older before their eyes. He sank down upon his chair, his face lined and grey.
    â€œIt is the